Alone in a strange land
by donquichotte
Summary: A "realistic", if you will, reimagining of the little mermaid fairy tale. Somewhat dark.


Tales are strange things; they are not untrue so much as inaccurate. They take the truth and bend it into a new shape, almost unrecognisable but for a few faint glimmers.

I was a vain child. Of all the village youngsters, I was the prettiest. I say this now without vanity, but not without bitterness. Slim and lithe, with large blue eyes and dark, smooth and shining hair (though cropped short for practicality's sake) I drew stares even before I knew what they meant. Hand in hand with vanity came foolishness; praise and flattery turned my head with senseless notions. I clearly deserved better than a drudge job in the tavern where retired sailors, old and withered, having traded their health against their livelihood, sat around telling sea tales and singing sea chanteys to the admiring boys who would grow up just the same. As to marrying a village lad? Why would God have blessed me with such beauty if I were destined to marry a poor fisherman?

I ran away to the capital at sixteen, with a pocket full of coins and a head full of nonsense.

The city was big, much bigger than I'd ever have been able to imagine and much busier. The relentless and impersonal pounding of waves and the piercing shriek of the wind were replaced by the roar of thousands of voices and the thunder of carts and carriages. My meagre supply of coins, though it had seemed a fortune only a week ago, was quickly eaten by the innkeeper's purse and I soon found myself on the streets. Wandering skittishly down alleys as night fell, I jumped at every slight noise. Here and there, small fires burned, surrounded by huddled black silhouettes. As I walked by one such group, a hand grabbed at my arm. The woman giggled and swayed a little, the firelight gleaming gold off her red hair.

"Join us!" She giggled again and then to her companions she slurred "She's a pretty one, no?"

They ushered me nearer the fire and got a good look at the assorted folk surrounding me. Around a dozen women, gaudily dressed and glittering with cheap jewellery, chattered loudly. The red-haired woman who had pulled me in thrust a bottle into my hand.

Innocently, I took gulped a mouthful and immediately doubled over coughing as liquid fire filled my chest. Apparently this was hilarious, for laughter fell into the air around me. I had always hated being ridiculed. Steeling myself, I straightened and took several more gulps of the drink.

"Atta girl." An approving voice left the throng. "Drink up." More laughter. I started to find it rather funny myself, and I began giggling as well. As the night wore on, the firelight wobbled confusingly and I saw only a spinning blur of colour and lights. Dimly I recall eating, drinking more and running crazily through the streets. We arrived at a large and dilapidated house and, somehow a part of the group, I trailed after them. Following the others unsteadily up a flight of creaking stairs, I vaguely remembered that I had come to the city looking for work, that I didn't know these girls at all. I promptly banished these concerns in favour of concentrating on where to put my feet. Upon reaching the second floor, I found that the others had already dispersed and I was left swaying foolishly at the top of the stairs.

"You there! What are you doing here?"

An older woman had emerged from a room and was now standing in front of me with a fierce expression on her delicate features.

"I...don't know. I mean I came to the city because...... 'cause I-"

Her large brown eyes narrowed shrewdly. "You'd be looking for work, then?"

"Yes! That's it. That's why I came." I nodded enthusiastically.

"Well, let's have a look at you then. Hold still."

Circling me, she made small noises of assessment. Darting to and fro, she was like a minnow; small, quick and glittering.

"Name, girl?"

I couldn't remember. Her sharp movements had spun my head around and the room also seemed to be spinning. I sat down on the floor. Everything was suddenly very funny and I began to laugh.

"That's the way of it then? Well, it doesn't much matter. Accent says you're from the coast; you'll be Pearl, then. Come now, let's get you to bed."

The next morning, I woke up nauseous with a nail through my forehead. And apparently a job. The redhead from last night leant over me, looking worried. Unable to focus on anything because of the pounding in my skull, I let her dress me and paint my face and lead me from the room.

We stood at the top of the stairs; I was still trying to figure out what had happened and resisting the urge to collapse whimpering and holding my head.

"Scarlet! Wait a moment." The woman from last night strode down the hall after us, her long hair flowing behind her like a cape. "I need to talk to Pearl here. This is very important, now. Are you a virgin?"

I stared at her, sure I must have misheard. A vague feeling of discomfort stole over me. Where exactly was I?

Apparently interpreting my astonishment, she nodded brusquely.

"Good. Come with me. On your way, Scarlet." Pulling me back down the hall, she began her instructions. "Whatever happens, don't speak." She stopped outside a carved door and looked me over. Her eyes softened for an instant, offering what looked like an apology.

"Ah, child, you don't deserve this fate."

Then, a noise from the other room shattered the moment. The woman's eyes hardened again and, matter-of-factly, she pulled the bodice tighter and lower, straightened the skirt and then led me through the door.

In by far the grandest room I had ever seen, the handsomest man I had ever seen reclined lazily on a brocade sofa. The woman tugged me over to stand in front of his bored blue gaze.

"This one's just in from the coast. Fresh, young, healthy." The man's eyes swept up and down my body, lingering on my chest. I felt my face flood with colour. Immediately, those piercing eyes narrowed.

"Prudish, are we?" Something in his voice indicated, not the expected derision, but a veiled excitement. I shivered.

Silence reigned over the room as this unknown lord continued his appraisal. Then, decision made, he jumped to his feet and grabbed my arm, holding it painfully tightly.

"I'll take her. Bill my house for whatever you feel is fair. Now, show me to a…private room."

My first time was neither gentle nor sweet, nor even passionate. Once the heavy door closed behind us, he began immediately. I screamed. Repeatedly. This man, so fair in face and figure, desired not only my body, but my pain, my anguish. And he took it; he took everything.

Thereafter I lived at the palace, in my own suite of lavish rooms. I had always dreamed of a noble falling in love with me and taking me away as his bride. How foolish those dreams. The prince himself carried me off and I had never been more miserable. Never, though, in my imaginings had I foreseen the torture inflicted upon me under a king's roof.

I had the dubious honour of being a favourite. Day in and day out, my pain fed his highness's depraved appetites. Whether he touched me or not, the pain was always excruciating. Often, a henchman beat my feet to ribbons, so that I could not walk without feeling as though knives were being driven up my legs.

The prince very nearly broke me. I had been a wilful child, stubborn and argumentative, but after a week in the palace, I was reduced to a shell. Imitating a mute, I kept my eyes down and offered no complaints, whatever happened. I kept, though, my treasure: the memory of life. I was like the sea on a windless day, pretending passivity and calm, while vitality surged deep underneath. My vitality lurked very deep within me and every terrible day forced it farther down, until I couldn't be quite sure it was still there.

For the prince's private birthday celebration, he took his clique of females and his favoured courtiers aboard a barge and sailed out on the sea for a full three days of debauchery. As soon as I smelled the sea, familiar even after nearly a year, my memory of life roared into existence, strong as ever despite its long repression. Anger filled me, nearly too large to contain and I saw an opportunity for revenge or freedom, for some form of action.

Unfortunately, very little opportunity presented itself at first; for all my watchfulness, I could see no way to turn the situation to my advantage. They were men, stronger than I, and cruel enough to kill me for any reason. Then, a stroke of providence: a dagger, dropped and forgotten in the haze of intoxicants. I quickly gathered it to me and hid the blade beneath the filmy white drapes of my dress.

Early the next morning, when the sun was rising and the men slept like logs after their long night, I snuck into the prince's cabin and hovered over his bed, dagger in my hand. He slept between two girls, barely past their fifteenth year. They were truly devoid of spirit, broken past repair. The man looked like an angel, all golden hair and sharp plains and lean muscle. They hid a soul from Hell. The hand holding the blade quivered a little; could I kill this man? I knew his depravity, knew his cruelty, but I hesitated. That decided the matter, for the prince's very blue eyes snapped open and he saw the knife. He was stronger than I, and faster, but I dropped the knife fled before he could act.

Bellowing, he chased after me, but soon slowed, for I had climbed out onto the bowsprit and was precariously balanced on the narrow beam. Woken by his shouts, the others on board gathered to watch.

"You are lucky," I cried to the prince, "for had you woken a moment later, you might have been dead. I hesitated, God forgive me; I could not stomach killing you and you woke and you now live. I will not stay. I now return home."

I jumped into the sea, shed the ridiculous filmy white shift I wore and struck out towards shore. It was a foolish move; we were far out and already the frigid water was draining my energy, but I had nothing to lose. It felt good to swim again and I cut through the water with long strokes. After a while, I lost track of time and of my own body; there was nothing but the salt water and the sky and the waves and the birds.

Joseph told me later that he found me washed up stark naked and unconscious on the beach by the village. He took me to the chapel, where the priest tended to me until I woke. I have lived in that village ever since, and so my life has come full circle, for my new home is nearly the twin of my first. I am wiser now and rejoice in the tedium and good natured monotony.

A year after my arrival, a traveling peddler brought us the tale of the sea maid who traded her tail for legs and came to live in the palace for love of the prince. He told of how, offered a chance to return to the sea in return for the prince's heart, she had refused out of love and had thrown herself into the sea and turned to sea foam.

I listened to his story, feeling a chilling sense of familiarity, for this was _my_ story twisted horribly around. I kept my silence, though.

I'm married now, to Joseph, and a mother and I love my husband and children dearly, but I cannot forget my past and so I tell my story once, that it not be entirely corrupted by gossip and speculation.

There was no Sea Witch, save for my own vanity and naïveté, and no charming prince, just a cruel vicious man. If anyone should learn anything from my story, it ought to be that, while such tales may entertain, it would be foolish to ignore the warnings they give.


End file.
